


To Rise Again

by woodelf



Series: The Floofy!verse [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodelf/pseuds/woodelf
Summary: What if Belle had picked up Rumpel’s dagger by the Dark Vault instead of Zelena? What if they escaped back to the Dark Castle with Neal? What if there were another way to bring him back from the brink of death? A fix-it for episode 3 x 15, Quiet Minds.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: The Floofy!verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836043
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	To Rise Again

“You can’t hold on to them both,” Zelena declared triumphantly.

It was an easy decision, this time. “Belle, take it!” he called as he tossed the dagger that controlled him in her direction.

Quick as thought, Belle leapt forward and snatched it off the ground, not even having to think about what was needed. Time, and safety. “Rumpelstiltskin, I command thee to transport myself and Neal with you to the Dark Castle!.”

A swirl of purple smoke later, and the witch’s cry of rage rang out over the empty snow-filled clearing.

—————————————–

Inside the Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin laid his son out tenderly atop the dining room table.

“Is there anything you can do?” Belle asked deperately.

“A life for a life,” he replied dully.

“But were you really dead?”

“I…existed in a state of suspended animation, I suppose you could say. I was not aware.”

“But Neal…” She pressed two fingers to Neal's neck, feeling his pulse beating – weakly, but still there “He’s not dead yet. Isn’t there _something?_ A loophole? Sacrifice an animal in his stead?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, his mind still moving sluggishly after his entombment in the Vault. “He was the one who opened the Vault. The mark is on his hand.”

“ _Think_ ,” Belle urged fiercely. “Can you freeze him like this, to buy us time to find a way to save him? I refuse to accept this!”

Her passion finally roused Rumpelstiltskin from his numbness. “I could take him into myself,” he said slowly. “But I don’t know how clear my thoughts would be with two inhabitants in my body. But a simple stasis spell, like a sleeping curse, yes… But don’t you think I would know if there was a way to save him?” His voice rose, practically shouting. 

“Do it!” Belle commanded, not even thinking about the fact that she still held his dagger in her right hand. 

His eyes widened as he felt the compulsion, but a minute later it was done, the cloud of purple magic dissipating around Neal’s body. 

“Is he…” Belle wasn’t quite sure what she was asking.

“Dying, and will remain so until I release him into death or…” He gripped his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “Belle, there is no way!”

“Unless you’ve faced this exact situation before, you can’t be sure until you’ve considered all possibilities!” she insisted. “Looked through all your books for something you might not have taken note of when you were concentrating on creating the Curse!”

“We don’t have the luxury of time,” he reminded her. “Zelena will be coming.” He chewed his lip, forcing himself to think. “My lab. I need to see what’s left of my lab. If it was destroyed…”

But, warded by heavy magic, his lab was remarkably intact, books still on the walls and in random piles, vials of potions lining the shelves. They had moved Neal to the simply-furnished tower room directly below the lab, which contained a bed that Rumpelstiltskin had been wont to sleep in when he had not wanted to leave his work for long. 

“Better than I’d hoped for, considering the state of downstairs,” he said as he moved along the shelves full of spell ingredients, stopping when a gleam of gold caught his eye. The single, perfect feather lay in a crystal-clear box, as bright and shining as the sun, tinged with fiery red-gold at the tips of the barbs. His mind raced with sudden possibilities. A life for a life, yes. But what did the phoenix do but sacrifice its own life to be born anew? Was there an answer here?

“What is it?” asked Belle, coming over, drawn by his stillness.

“A phoenix feather,” he said, drawing one finger reverently along the top of the box. “An ancient bird of Araby, and the lands around it. There is only ever one phoenix in existence at a time, which, at the end of every 500 years – more or less, but that’s the most common span given – wearies of the world, and builds a pyre of sweet-scented woods and resins, and immolates itself upon the flames that it ignites. And from the ashes a new bird arises, young and reinvigorated, and the cycle goes on.”

“I’ve read the legend,” Belle said softly. “It sounds a lonely life. And you think this might help Neal?”

“I don’t know – but the phoenix sacrifices its life, and yet is reborn to live again. You’re right, my focus was always on finding a way to the land without magic where Bae went. I studied everything, of course, because I didn’t know what would come in useful in creating the Curse, but if something seemed of no relevance to me, I didn’t pursue it. I couldn’t be sidetracked. Dead was dead, the one thing magic couldn’t change, all the tomes agreed on that. But Bae wasn’t dead, and I never searched for a way to circumnavigate something like this.”

Suddenly he was all action, pulling books from everywhere in the room, piling them in a stack. “Start going through these for anything related to the phoenix. Let me know if you find anything that sounds useful." 

For the next few hours they searched through book after book, Belle either reading aloud passages she found or bookmarking them for Rumpel to look at if he was absorbed in a book of his own. Finally, eyes nearly crossing from reading so much, she stood and stretched, her back popping. 

"I need a break. I can’t see straight anymore. I’m going to go have a look in the kitchen, see if there is any tea or food to eat.”

Rumpelstiltskin waved his hand dismissively. “Bring something up if you find anything. And stay away from any windows; Zelena’s out there, I don’t want her to see you if at all possible.”

“She’s here? Outside the castle?” Belle exclaimed, startled.

“Arrived some time ago. But she can’t get in. I think. I reinforced the wards when we arrived. Come back to the tower as quickly as possible; though, it’s the most secure place.”

“You _think?_ ” she repeated, but when he waved her off, she went. If he thought she was in any danger leaving the tower by herself, he wouldn’t let her go, she knew. It felt good to stretch her muscles, and she was cheered in the kitchen by the discovery of a haunch of venison in the larder. She’d forgotten that Robin Hood and his men had been living here. Onions were hanging up, and various roots and herbs lined the shelves. Not that they would have starved, Rumpel could summon any food she wanted, but why waste unnecessary magic, however small? There was even a basket of wood and a tinderbox nearby; she could start a fire and make some stew. No tea, though she found what smelled like cider and a basket of apples as well. Except, when she looked again, there _was_ a canister of tea, where she was sure there hadn’t been one a minute ago. She glanced upward suspiciously. Well, she had said she was going to look for tea. 

“Thank you, Rumpel,” she called to the empty air, in case he could hear her, and set about heating some water. When she returned to the tower a half hour later, a stew was simmering in the pot hanging in the kitchen hearth, and she carried a tray laden with the steaming tea and the basket of apples. 

All that day and the next they sought for answers, Belle setting aside books with page markers in a pile that grew and then dwindled as Rumpelstiltskin sifted through what she had found, discarding most and jotting down notes from others that went into a much smaller pile. She forced him to take breaks, to eat and rest in the second bed he’d conjured in the room in which Neal lay, Belle having no wish to try to restore her old room to rights, feeling safer up here in the tower. 

“You’ll be no good to Neal if you’re too tired to think clearly,” she admonished Rumpelstiltskin when he protested he had no time to sleep. “What if you miss the importance of something you’ve read?” And so he had agreed to lie down for a short while, though she doubted he had gotten much sleep, if any, judging by the hollow-eyed look he wore. She awoke the second morning and went up to the lab to be greeted by the smell of burnt cinnamon and something less pleasant which he informed her was frankincense.

“Are you working on something?” She asked hopefully. “A potion? A spell?”

“I’m…experimenting,” he said cautiously. “Pursuing a line of research.”

“That’s good, right?”

“That remains to be seen. Perhaps it would be better if you were to stay out of the lab today?”

Belle frowned, but understood that magic could be unpredictable, and he was probably worried for her safety. Noxious fumes that might not harm the Dark One might have rather more ill effects upon her, for example. 

“All right. If you eat some breakfast now, I’ll leave you alone until teatime. Is Zelena still out there, though?”

“She’s retreated for now, waiting for us to make our next move. Very well, breakfast,” he agreed, and after sharing the meal with him she retreated to her own library, wondering if she might find something useful in a book there. She spent the next few hours immersed in a book of travellers’ tales picturesquely called “Across The Sands By Camel”, encountering the legend of the phoenix but nothing new to add to what they already knew. She returned to the kitchen while there was still daylight left and prepared something for tea, as well as adding more ingredients to the pot on the hearth for dinner. She carried the tray up to the room where Neal lay and set it on the small table Rumpelstiltskin had added along with the bed, and went up the last flight of winding stairs to summon him to eat. 

He came at once to her knock on the heavy oak door, releasing a whiff of more burnt things as he came out to join her.

“Have you made any progress?” she asked, searching his face for clues. He looked abstracted more than anything else.

“The tale of the phoenix’s death and rebirth has these constants,” he said, pouring out his tea. “First, the cyclical nature of it. Every 500 years is mentioned most often, sometimes just a little longer, sometimes twice as long. It makes me wonder if it’s related to an astronomical event, such as a comet appearing in the sky, its fiery passage overhead being taken for the flight of some fantastic bird. Or else the conditions required for its rebirth only exist at those times, in which case we’re out of luck, as the most recent recorded sighting was only about 350 years ago, and I’m not about to wait another 150 for the right conditions.”

“Secondly, the materials it uses in building its pyre; they are always specifically mentioned and are remarkably consistent. The cassia bark, the frankincense and myrrh, and so on. They must matter. The most variation occurs in the description of the bird itself, but given its scarcity, I see nothing odd in that.”

He paused. “For the phoenix, fire is the catalyst to rebirth, but it also destroys the old body. Neal’s body is still young and strong. I need to make magic the catalyst, and just rekindle the spark of life within it.”

“Can you do it?” Belle asked hopefully.

“I don’t know. But I’m going to try.” He looked at Neal’s still form bleakly. “What have I got to lose?”

Belle pushed a scone slathered with honey across to him and watched as he absently began to eat it. “Have you figured out how?”

“I considered whether the smoke from the burning materials might be sufficient, but I sensed nothing magical in it, and it would be difficult to keep it from spreading out and diluting. So I distilled the ingredients into a potion. I felt…potential in that, but no more than that. The phoenix feather must be added, that must be essential to the magic, but there is only the one, and if I don’t get it right the first time, there is no other. I’d like to divide it in two, so if I don’t prepare the first draught in exactly the right manner, I’ll have one more chance. But I don’t know if half a feather will be enough, or if breaking it might somehow render it inefficious. Do I burn it and capture the smoke? Or use the ashes? Dissolve it in acid? Reduce it to as fine particles as possible and risk Neal choking on it?”

“No wonder you used to spend so much time in your tower. I never realised all the trial and error involved in creating spells and potions. So it must be drunk, then?”

“I think so, if we can get him to swallow it.” He took another scone, and more tea, suddenly hungry. 

“Why don’t you take a break?” Belle suggested. “Come with me back down to the kitchen for a while, get out of this tower. The fresh air and change of scene might clear your mind, give you new ideas.”

“You might be right,” Rumpelstiltskin admitted. “But would you mind staying here with Neal? I don’t like to leave him alone. I’ll carry the tea things back down.”

“Of course.”

When they had finished their tea, Rumpelstiltskin rose and went over to Neal, bending to press a kiss upon his son’s pale forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Belle will be right here. I’m working on a way to fix this. Henry needs you, son. Don’t give up. I love you." 

He picked up the tea tray and disappeared down the stairs, leaving Belle alone with Neal. She went to sit beside him, gently running a hand over his wavy hair. "Too bad this isn’t a curse instead of whatever this is. A price, I guess. I’ve never seen a love so true as what your father has for you. I wonder if we’ll ever get married, have children. I wouldn’t mind a little girl, one day. To place her in her father’s arms and see the look on his face. Would you like that? Being a big brother? You missed out on Henry’s childhood. Well, he’s still a child. But growing up quickly. You know what I mean. First steps and first words and bedtime stories and toothless toddler smiles? You could babysit anytime you wanted.” Belle smiled a little wistfully. “I don’t even know if you can hear me.”

But she was still talking when Rumpelstiltskin returned, telling Neal all about the book she’d been reading, how she would like to travel one day, see all of the wonders of the world. “Hey,” he said, entering the room.

“Hey.” She got up, went to him and took his hands in hers.

“I’ve made a decision. I’m going to split the feather, so I’ll have at least two chances. I don’t want to reduce it by any more than that. I’ll try the ashes first.”

“Do you want me to stay or go away again?”

“Stay, please.”

Prepared for the unpleasant smell of burning feathers, they were surprised when Rumpelstiltskin had placed the golden feather in a cast iron bowl and set fire to it. A fresh, clean scent rose and filled the air, the scent of springtime, of green and growing things. Rumpelstiltskin hastily grabbed a nearby beaker and upended it over the feather, capturing the scent as best he could. “Find the stopper,” he told Belle urgently.

She swept her gaze over the table and saw a cork that seemed to be the right size, passing it to Rumpelstiltskin, who took it without glancing away from the feather as it crumbled into a very small pile of fine ash. The flame went out, and he corked the neck of the beaker before setting it upright.

“Well. I didn’t expect that,” he observed.

“It smelled good,” Belle offered.

“It did.” He carefully poured the ashes into a small jar and corked that as well, putting it safely to the side. “Now we’ll try this.” He picked up the other half of the golden feather and placed it in a glass bowl this time, which hung suspended from a frame. He played the flame of a candle over the bottom of the dish, heating it, watching as the tips of the feather’s barbs began to singe and give off the unpleasant odor they’d expected the first time. Quickly he took away the flame. 

“We’re going to burn this half, too,” he said decisively.

“Are you sure?” Belle asked. 

“You smelled it.” He shifted the feather to the iron dish and found a much larger jar this time to capture the scent. “That was the smell of life.” He picked up the potion he’d distilled from the cassia bark and resins, and thoughtfully added a few drops of it atop the feather. This time the smell was even stronger as he set fire to the feather, the flame leaping up higher, the scent of spices mixed in, the brisk, invigorating air of an autumn day, which fills one with energy after the lethargic heat of summer. Rumpelstiltskin held the open jar over the dish until the flame fizzled out, then screwed the lid on and added the new ashes to the first batch and shook them up to mix them together. 

“Now what?” asked Belle anxiously when he had set the jar safely back down. 

Rumpelstiltskin picked the large jar back up thoughtfully. There was no trace of normal soot on its sides, but it seemed to glow with a faint golden green light. He set it back down with a look of interest on his face. “Now we add the ashes to the rest of the potion,” he said, suiting action to words. 

Belle let out a squeak of surprise as the fine ashes dissolved into the liquid with a flash of golden light. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It certainly did something,” he assured her, pleased with the result. “And now, we wait. It might just be fire-related symbolism, but the phoenix is a bird of the sun. At dawn, when the light of the rising sun washes over Neal’s body, that’s when we’ll try it. And then – either it will help, it will do nothing, or I will have killed my boy.” His voice was suddenly rough. 

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You said he was already dying, that you just froze time for him to stop him from taking that last breath. If the worst happens, it won’t be your fault. Neal knew there would be a price to pay, and he was willing to pay it if necessary. He knew you were needed to save the others, to save his son. We can’t stay here forever, and let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, his head down. “I know.”

“That potion – could it hurt him?” Belle asked. “Couldn’t you test it on something else first? A small bird, maybe?”

“By itself, there’s nothing about this potion which should be dangerous. It’s how it might react to the magic that’s put Neal in this condition that’s the unknown factor. But all my instincts say that if anything can help, this will.” He took a deep breath. “Best we turn it early; we have to be up before sunrise.”

They spent one last night in the tower room with Neal’s still body, Rumpelstiltskin casting a small spell to ensure he woke in time. Although there was an east-facing window in that room, he carried Neal up to his laboratory when he woke, preferring to be surrounded by all his supplies in case he needed something unexpected at a moment’s notice. They laid him out on a cleared table, Rumpelstiltskin requesting Belle to lift Neal’s upper body and support it in a half-sitting position. The room brightened, and then the sun was streaming in, and Rumpelstiltskin uncorked the beaker and the jar, and that fresh scent immediately began filling the room, smelling of life, and health, and energy. Quickly Rumpelstiltskin uncorked the vial of the potion, and carefully poured a little into Neal’s mouth, stroking his throat until he felt his son swallow, and giving him a little more, and a little more, until it was gone.

“How long will it take?” whispered Belle.

“I don’t know.” Rumpelstiltskin picked up Neal’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Come on, son, your family is waiting for you,” he pleaded.

The seconds ticked by. Then, as the sun rose higher and bathed the room in light, he thought he saw a tinge of colour replace the pallor of death on Neal’s face. Was it just a trick of the light? His imagination? He felt for the pulse at Neal’s wrist. Slow, but surely it was strengthening?

“Come back to us, Neal,” Belle added, having laid him back down with a folded blanket beneath his head. “We’ve got you; you’re safe.” Her eyes flew to Rumpelstiltskin’s as Neal’s chest suddenly rose with a deeper breath. "Rum –“

"I saw it.” He leaned forward urgently. “That’s it, breathe in, son. Can you smell that, in the air? That’s life, my boy. That’s health. Breathe it in deeply!”

There was no doubt about it now, the return of colour, the stronger breathing. The room warmed, the smell intensifying, the windows shut to prevent it from escaping, rich and strong and heady. Rumpelstiltskin released the magic that had been keeping Neal alive, hoping that it wasn’t too soon, praying to what deity he knew not. _Please. Oh, please…_

Time seemed to stop as they held their breaths, waiting…

Brown eyes opened. blinked, focused. The hand Rumpelstiltskin held squeezed back.

“Hey, Papa.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s smile shone brighter than the sun. “Hey, son. Welcome back.”


End file.
